


Frottage

by Eruphadriel



Series: NSFW Challenge [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dragon Age Quest: Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts, F/F, Frottage, Halamshiral
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 03:04:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4860611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eruphadriel/pseuds/Eruphadriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Red Jenny's clues mean little to everyone except to whom they're intended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frottage

Music from the gallery swelled and swept through the grand ballroom like a gust of wind, sending the dancers spinning, billowing skirts of taffeta and silk glittering over the glossy marble floors. The chaos of the Winter Palace was the quiet kind. Murmured. A gentle sway, but no less overwhelming.

The masks made it worse. Tyran hated the way they shielded so much. Metal and lace appliqué, hiding mouths and noses and cheeks. Only the eyes remained, alight with mirth and wicked plans. Gazes darted, judging, questioning, in Tyran's wake. Wondering.  _Where is the Inquisitor going?_  She strode with determination, but her expression was muddled with uncertainty. Her boots clopped up the stairs, fleeing golden candlelight, then silver moonbeams, and charging into darkness. Her horns cast sharp shadows over her face, stretching down the steps until she turned a corner and vanished into the depths of the palace.

Red Jenny left notes, but not those to which Tyran was accustomed. One silk scarf by the cookie platter, its thin fabric known only to her wrists and the bedpost. A shred of lurid crimson leather by the fountain; the tip of a belt, a strap, the girl had worn about her wide hips, though how Tyran remembered the toy's leather as well as the polished appendage was nothing short of luck. And finally, a sheaf of thin paper, one edge torn, placed between the legs of a statue in the corridor.

She was good at planting clues. Tyran was good at following them.

The sound of Tyran shutting the door echoed through the cavernous library. She squeezed her eyes shut at the noise. It felt too loud, windows shuddering in the quiet. But nobody came running, questioning, accusing. Calling Empress Celene, whom they had only just saved, and all of Orlais buzzing with the scandal. Nobody appeared. Nobody, except one girl,  _grinning_ , flying out from behind a massive bookcase.

"You figured it out! Thought I'd be squatting there all night." Sera jerked her head back to indicate her hiding place in the corner.

Tyran approached with open arms and a cocky grin. "The last one nearly stumped me. You  _do_  realize you tore a page out of a Tevinter text, right?"

The elf snorted. "I didn't look at it! I just took it, yeah?”

"I thought Dorian was luring me into the library."

Sera wound her arms around Tyran's waist and smiled widely up at her. "The evil moustache man's not here, Tee. Just you and me. A- _lone_. Got my second message, yeah?"

Her sex throbbed just thinking about the strap-on stowed away in her quarters back at Skyhold. "Why do you think I rushed here?"

"Rushed.  _Right_. Well, you were slow, so now  _we’re_  in a rush. So get on that table there." Sera waved her hand over to the long, book-littered table.

As Tyran strode over, she began to unbuckle her belt.

"Not so fast! Or so slow, really."

"Huh?"

Sera's hands pressed against her back, prompting her forward. "We don't got  _time_  for all that, Tee! On your back! Now!"

Tyran obeyed, the hard mahogany of the table sending a dull ache through her shoulder blades. Sera was on top of her. Hot, squirming, legs on either side of her and rutting against her belt buckle. Their bright scarlet raiments rasped, crumpling, and the rogue's fingers dug into Tyran's waist.

She chuckled. "You're excited." Inquisitor Adaar patiently angled her hips up to let Sera rock against her. She would get her turn soon.

"You made me wait – Ahh... Too long. Got to thinking. Got to – Ahh!  _Ah_! D-Daydreaming."

Sera tucked her plush lip between her teeth, pink skin blanching around the bite, freckled cheeks darkening. Her hips slowed as she adjusted, positioning herself,  _perfecting_. Tyran ran a hand up Sera's belly. She squeezed her breast through the thick cloth of her jacket. The rogue made a sound between a groan and a giggle.

"Help me." The words were a pained whisper.

Tyran cocked an eyebrow. "What?"

"Say summit! Like you always say when we're alone."

As if she could speak...  _that way_  on command. Every time she had spoken the way she had, it was always spur of the moment, the words spilling out before she realized what had been said, the registering moment long after the elf spent herself.

Tyran scrambled for something, but all she could focus on was Sera. The rogue loomed above her, angling, trying, chest rising with every hitched breath. Sera cried out. She found a good spot, her rocking turning to impassioned rutting, hips bucking reckless and one hand slamming down by Tyran's head to balance herself. The Inquisitor felt a rush of inspiration. She grabbed the back of Sera's neck and pulled her down to kiss her throat.

"The  _second_  we're out of Halamshiral, I'm going down between your legs and I'm not coming up until you've forgotten your own name."

"Fuck!" she gasped, table groaning beneath them.

"First just my tongue. No fingers, no toys." Tyran bit her earlobe. "I'm going to start slow. Teasing you until you're _shaking_."

"Keep going." Sera spread her legs wider, bracing her arm on the table. She nearly collapsed but caught herself. The words were breathless, an octave higher.

Tyran grabbed Sera’s ass and forced her closer, the friction between them hot and stinging. She pressed two fingers between the elf’s legs. “Then, I’m going to fuck you,  _hard_ , pulling you back from the edge every time until you’re  _begging_ me –“

”Ah! Mh- _Maker_!” Sera shut her eyes and threw her head back, hips thrusting up before slamming back down to rut against Tyran’s fingers, her whole body shuddering in response to the shockwaves that jolted through her. Every moan, a wordless gasp. Pitch tight and higher,  _higher_ with every second that passed. Tyran could see each individual wave of pleasure crash over her lover. They crossed her face like shadows, agony and bliss, twisting her features and stiffening every muscle.

A long moment passed before Sera’s body relaxed. She let out a giggle,  _that_ giggle that was deep and tickling and absolutely ridiculous and absolutely  _her_ all at once. Tyran pulled her close, pressing their foreheads together.

“I hope you weren’t too loud.”

Sera snorted. “They’d be  _lucky_ if they heard me. It’s the most action those poncy pricks’ll get tonight.” She sat back up and trailed one finger down the side of Tyran’s neck, across her breast, over a nipple, and hooked it into the waistband of her trousers.

“Your turn.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I absolutely love Sera x Adaar (especially after taking her with me during the events of Trespasser. /sigh/ Why's it always the hot ones?). Keep following the challenge for more, and as usual, feedback is appreciated and encouraged!


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